


Unsteady

by KMDWriterGrl



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate History, Episode: s02e02 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen: Part 2, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 23:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11497425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/KMDWriterGrl
Summary: In the follow up to "Hold Tight," CJ, Danny, and Toby continue to cope with the aftermath of Rosslyn as the team goes back out on the road for their first event post-shooting. The psychological effects and the injuries are still very apparent ... and are becoming stumbling blocks.





	Unsteady

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: You definitely need to have read "Hold Tight" in order to get what's going on in this fic ... it follows up on events listed in my slightly AU version of the Rosslyn shooting that did not occur in the show's canon.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Hail to The Sorkin, Overlord of All Things West Wing. Your unworthy acolyte is taking your characters out for a stroll, O Mighty Sorkin... she shall bring them back to you undamaged. I make no claim to these, your shiny wondrous creations, and make no profit from them.

“Hold on to me, cause I’m a little unsteady.”—X Ambassadors, “Unsteady.” 

***

“They want to write what?” CJ asks Toby as they move at a fast clip down the hallway toward the North Portico. 

“Staff profiles. Human interest stuff. They want to interview a cross-section of the White House staff to see how we’re all doing in the wake of the shooting.” 

“Why the hell would anyone care?”

“Readers who want to know if we break down crying before breakfast and have group therapy sessions after lunch.”

CJ studies him to make sure he isn’t putting her on. “And multiple magazines have requested this information?”

“Time, Newsweek, and People so far. A few others, but those are the big ones.” Toby sets his bag down on the bench beside the door and waits for the motorcade to roll up. 

“Count me out,” CJ replies. She can think of very few things she’d want to do less than be profiled by a reporter—especially one she works with! Her response to the shooting is so  
very much no one else’s business.

“Count ALL of us out. It’s a ridiculous idea. Oh, the Post wants it too, of course, so if you see Danny, tell him unequivocally no.” He gives her a sly, teasing look. “Although from what I hear you’re not very good at saying no to Danny.”

“Seriously, Toby? You had to go there?” She rolls her eyes. “Why must you insist on inserting yourself into my personal affairs?”

“Believe me, I’d rather not. But when there’s gossip …”

“Who the hell is gossiping?” CJ slips on a pair of sunglasses when the bright sun makes her wince. 

“The assistants, mainly. A few reporters. Danny’s your pet and all of that nonsense.”

CJ sighs. “You’d think we were in high school.”

“I’m just saying that having a relationship with him isn’t the best idea, not while he works under you.” 

“I’m NOT having a relationship with him … or with anyone! Not that it would be any of your business if I was.”

“Look, from an optics standpoint …”

CJ snorts derisively. “Please. You weren’t this concerned about optics when it came to Sam and his ‘friend.’ That fell to me, if you’ll remember, and led to Sam not speaking to me for a few days. Let’s call a spade a spade and not a pointed digging implement. You’re not concerned about optics here.” Before he can refute her argument she says, “There’s nothing between Danny and me. End of discussion.” 

“All right. Next point. Are you sure you ought to be flying?” 

“Toby.” She casts him an exasperated glare. “Is this some sort of hazing? Are you purposefully bringing up everything I do NOT want to talk about first thing in the morning before I’ve had coffee?”

“I’m just saying …” 

“I’ve been home for the last week. I’m ready to get back to work.”

“You still have a head injury. It takes up to 3 weeks to recover from a concussion and even then you might still have symptoms.” 

“Which informational pamphlet did you get that from?”

“Three of them at the hospital.” At CJ’s look, he replies, somewhat defensively, “What? I needed something to read.” 

“I’m fine,” she assures him. “Seriously. I’ve got Advil if I need it.”

She hopes he can’t tell that she’s bluffing … that she DOES still have a headache and is still tired. She’s sick of sitting at home, though, of napping and listening to audio books and taking walks. She’s sick of having too much time on her hands to think. It’s more than time to get back to work, where she can lose herself in the high-stakes day-to-day activities of her job. She doesn’t want to dwell on the shooting … not any more. 

“You should have taken the full ten days the doctor suggested.”

“I was going crazy at home and you’re short-handed without Josh.” She stands a little straighter as Charlie and the President walk out onto the Portico. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, CJ, Toby. Are you sure you’re well enough to go with us, CJ?”

Toby shoots her a “see, what did I tell you?” look and waits to see how she’ll answer the President.

“Yes, sir, I’m fine.”

“You’ve seen a doctor?”

Well, she HAD … just not recently … not that she’s going to mention that. “I have, yes, sir.”

“We’re in for a pretty long day.”

“I’m aware.”

“As long as you’re sure you’re okay.”

“I am, Mr. President.”

“All right then.” The motorcade rolls up and Charlie opens the door for them all. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

***

Danny’s on the flight today. She’s glad to see him, gladder, perhaps, than she ought to be considering that she’s not supposed to be indulging herself by having feelings for him and had vehemently denied any such feelings to Toby only an hour earlier. But Danny’s kindness on the night of the shooting, his concern as he drove her back to her apartment, fixed her dinner, and then sat with her until she fell asleep are things she won’t forget any time soon. His tenderness toward her both then and in the time that’s passed is making it more difficult for her to pretend she’s only interested in being his friend. 

He gives her a quick wave as he gets settled into his seat while chatting with Katie and Steve, but doesn’t try to approach her. She’s glad of that … he’s able to read her well enough to know that she’s not quite 100% yet, so she’s happy to keep him at a distance for now. She gives him a smile and a nod and turns back to the task at hand … getting everyone seated so they can get going. 

“Everyone, let’s hurry up and take our seats, please; we’d like to shoot for an on-time departure, and by that I mean only ten minutes behind schedule. Once we’re good to go I’ll come back and hand out copies of the President’s remarks, provided that Sam isn’t futzing with them right up until the moment the President goes on-stage.”

There’s low laughter around the cabin … everyone knows Sam’s propensity for changing words and phrases, sometimes even as he’s walking down the hall on the way to a venue. 

Sure enough, Sam’s pacing up and down in the hallway outside the press cabin, reading aloud in a low voice, checking the flow of the speech. When he comes across a word he doesn’t like, he crosses it out and searches for a replacement, then pencils it in. 

“Hey, Boo-Boo,” CJ says, trying to edge past him, “you’re blocking the aisle.”

“Sorry,” Sam mutters distractedly. “I just can’t get this sentence right.”

“And pacing helps?”

“It does, actually.”

“All right, then, go to it.” She nudges him over gently so that he’s not impeding all of the traffic bustling through and heads for her seat outside the President’s private office. Toby  
is already there, looking over his own copy of the speech. 

“Don’t get too attached to it--Sam’s making changes,” she advises. 

“He can perseverate like no one else,” Toby says, rolling his eyes. “Where is he?”

“Pacing outside the press cabin.”

“I’ll go reign him in. Want me to make sure everyone’s settled out there?”

“No, I’ll give them five more minutes. Thanks.” 

When Toby leaves in search of Sam, she quickly tosses back some Advil, hoping to cut the headache in half. It’s not unbearable but it’s definitely making its presence felt. She still gets dizzy if she turns her head too fast but she’s not going to let that get in her way. Taking a final sip from the water bottle, she stashes it beside her purse and leather messenger bag and heads back out to the press cabin. 

“Well, since it seems that Sam is still tinkering with adverbs, you guys will have to wait till after all is said and done to get copies of the speech. I can, however, give you copies of the remarks that will be made by the two speakers beforehand … apparently their speechwriters have a pretty good grasp on what they want to say.” 

“It’s not the adverbs that are my problem!” Sam calls from out in the hallway, a remark that gets a laugh from everyone. 

“You just keep telling yourself that, Sam,” Danny shoots back to more laughter. 

“You guys know the drill … buckle in and stow the electronics until you’re given the okay to turn them back on again from the cabin crew.” CJ picks up the wall phone, calls up to the cockpit, and says, “This is CJ Cregg in the press cabin; we’re good to go here.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Colonel West replies. “We’re just waiting for a go order from the President.”

As if on cue, the engines on the huge jet begin to roar. CJ makes her way back to her seat, buckles herself in next to Toby and across from Sam, who’s still lost in his own prose, and takes another sip of water. 

“You okay?” Toby asks, sotto voce, and she rolls her eyes at him. 

“Are you going to ask me that every hour on the hour?”

“Most women would be appreciative of my concern,” Toby replies dryly. 

“Thank you for your concern, but for the tenth time, I’m fine.” She pulls a briefing book out of her bag and settles back to peruse it. “Let’s talk about the Mid-east for a bit.”

There’s the usual feeling of being pushed back in her seat as the jetliner lift off. She tries to focus on the briefing book instead, which contains the newest intel from the turbulent Mid-east. Annoyingly, she finds that she can’t give it her full attention—the closely packed print is making her head hurt, just as it had yesterday when she’d tried to read The Wall Street Journal. With an internal sigh, she turns to Toby, knowing he’ll have read it already and might provide a summary. “Any thoughts?”

He’s studying her as if he’d really enjoy calling her bluff that she’s just read everything on the page but finally says, “I’m not confident that the arms trading thing is going to last any longer than a month.”

Since she’s able to follow his line of reasoning based on the few phrases she’d picked up as she skimmed the pages, she’s pretty sure he’s got the right idea in terms of message. He’ll need to give her more defined talking points, though, until she can read the text closely enough to develop ones of her own. 

“I can, you know…” He draws a legal pad closer, omnipresent pen already in his hand, and starts jotting down everything they’ve just talked about in broad bullet points. “If it helps.”

“It would. Thanks.” It’s damn frustrating having to make this many accommodations for her head injury, but she’ll have to make it work. 

Colonel West comes over the intercom. “Good morning, ladies and gentleman, from the flight deck. We are still making our ascent to cruising altitude. Flight time to Oklahoma City is a little over 3 hours. Sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.”

CJ unbuckles her seat belt and gathers the copies of the remarks from the senator who’ll be speaking prior to President Bartlet. “I’m going to take these to the press cabin.”

“I need to go find Ed and Larry. Sam, come find me when you’re done tinkering.”

“Mmmhmm,” is the distracted reply. 

CJ and Toby exchange amused glances, and Toby gestures her into the hallway ahead of him. 

“So, the staff profiles thing,” she says. “Did you take it to Leo?”

“No, and I’m not going to.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a really bad idea.”

“I still think you should take it to Leo.”

“Is there some universe I’m unaware of in which he might think it’s a good idea?”

“I’ve been thinking about it and … you know, if it’s done correctly, if it’s written in such a way that we can get our views on gun control out there without looking as if we’re trying to pick a fight with the NRA or the gun lobby, then I think we ought to give it a try.”

Toby stares at her with an incredulous expression. “Okay, first of all …”

“No, wait, hear me out …”

“First of all …” 

Since it’s clear he’s going to engage in his vastly irritating habit of talking over her to get his point across, CJ subsides. 

“Fine. First of all what?”

“You really want to go down that route? You want to talk to a reporter about your thoughts and feelings on the shooting on the off-chance that it might further a political agenda?”

“Not MY thoughts specifically,” she says, “Someone else’s thoughts. But if it’ll help get a conversation started, sure.” 

“Okay, well, that’s fine for you. But now you’re telling me you want Charlie to talk on the record about how guilty he feels because some white supremacist assholes can’t handle a black man dating the President’s daughter so we can kick the conversation about hate crimes into high gear? You’d be willing to do that to him?”

“If the conversation…” 

“You haven’t BEEN HERE, CJ,” he whisper-yells, trying not to call too much attention to their discussion. “This kid … you don’t know what he’s been going through…”

“I’m not saying it HAS to be Charlie. But getting someone like Donna to talk about it might not be a bad idea. We can help them craft the message so that at least part of what comes through in the profile is a discussion of the major concerns that we’re facing in the wake of …” 

“Toby!” Larry calls down the hallway. “Do you have a minute?”

“Be right there.” He gives CJ a reproachful look. “We’re not done on this. I’ll be back… and we’ll talk about why you’re wrong.”

CJ gives him an exasperated grin and waves him off. She’s actually looking forward to a good debate with Toby … and hopes that it’ll serve to make him stop treating her like glass. 

“These are Senator Lawton’s remarks,” she announces, stepping into the press cabin and handing copies down the rows. “Peruse at your leisure.” 

“Any idea when we’ll have the ones for--” Steve starts. 

“No,” everyone choruses with her. 

“Sam’s still revising?” Katie asks … hypothetically since they all know that’s exactly what he’s doing. 

“Sam cannot be rushed,” CJ replies. “I’ll let you know when we’ve got copies.”

“How are you going to make copies 45,000 feet in the air?” a relatively new reporter who’s a first-timer on Air Force One asks. 

“With a Xerox machine,” Danny responds. “They have two of them.”

“Why two?” 

“What if one jams?” he replies laconically, giving CJ a quick wink. 

She offers a smile in return and starts back down the aisle. The plane jolts as it passes through a band of turbulence; she grabs for the back of the seat in front of her. Once she’s steady again, she steps through the curtained area between the press cabin and the rest of the plane and out of the sightline of the reporters. 

She’s glad to be back with “her guys,” happy to have her mind back on her work and running a million miles an hour on something other than the events at Rosslyn, her own injuries, or her increasingly confused and ailing father. Work has always been her best distractor … spending the day out of the press room at an event is exactly what she needs. 

The plane’s jolting is rapidly getting worse, making it nearly impossible to walk upright. She has to keep grabbing the backs of seats as she walks. Everyone nearby seems to be having the same problem she is. Ed wavers by, slamming into the wall during a particularly rough jolt, before grinning sheepishly and disappearing through the curtain to the press cabin and then to the junior staffer’s offices in the back of the plane. 

The turbulence is setting off a wave of dizziness in CJ’s already aching head. She finally sinks into the nearest chair to wait it out, hoping fervently that the plane will steady so that her equilibrium will too. Colonel West comes over the intercom. 

“Sorry about that, folks, just a little bit of turbulence as we head over West Virginia. If you’re out of your seat go ahead and make your way back to it, please, till this clears up. We’ll keep you apprised.” 

CJ has every intention of heading back to her seat but she’s starting to feel woozy from all the jouncing and jolting. The headache that never really left is reasserting itself with a vengeance—clearly the Advil she’d taken earlier are NOT doing their job. 

A sudden throbbing pain sears through her head, hitting her with all the force of a lightning strike. She gasps involuntarily, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. The dizziness that hit her as the plane began bouncing with the turbulence comes in ever increasing waves. Dancing lights waver on the edges of her vision. She breathes deeply, trying to push past both sensations so she can get to her feet. 

But the headache is getting worse, much worse; another jagged bolt of pain slaloms through her skull, nearly bringing her to her knees. She wonders for one terrified moment if she’s having a stroke or an aneurysm. She looks around through tunneling vision, hoping someone’s nearby who can help her. 

Mercifully, Toby comes through the curtains between the press cabin and the hallway. “CJ, we should--” 

“Toby,” she manages, trying shakily to stand, her breath hitching in her throat with panic.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, alarmed, catching her by the arms. 

“I think I’m--”

And that’s all she can get out before blackness sweeps in from all sides to pull her under. 

*** 

She wakes up still dizzy, her vision blurred around the edges. 

She’s shaking—full body tremors from deep in her core. She wonders briefly if she’s having a seizure, but is pretty sure that if she was she wouldn’t be cognizant enough to ask  
herself the question. 

Her headache is still awful, but not nearly as bad as it had been when she’d blacked out. 

There’s pressure on her left arm; she gropes to see what it is.

“—still,” an unfamiliar voice orders. She’s not getting all of the words but she gets the gist and stops her hand. “—blood pressure. Figure out…hit your head?”

“No, but I …” She can’t get the sentence out, she feels so muddled. She tries to sit up to see what’s happening to her arm; pressure on her shoulders keeps her from doing so.

“Easy… don’t …just relax.” Another voice, clearer, and this one she’d know anywhere. Toby. She blinks muzzily up at him as he speaks again. “…Breathe slowly…don’t… pass out again.”

“Did you—Did I fall?” She manages the whole sentence this time. 

“I got you in my arms before you could.”

Her vision is clearing up. Toby’s perched just above her head on the armrest of the couch where she’s lying, both hands a steady pressure on her shoulders. An Air Force doctor is at her side, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around her arm. 

“Your blood pressure took quite a nose dive, Ms. Cregg,” the doctor—Lieutenant Commander Davis, according to his name tag-- says, studying the numbers on the dial. He doesn’t immediately unwrap the cuff. “I’m going to keep this here and check it again in a minute.” He takes her pulse and quickly notes it down on a legal pad. “Can you see me and hear me okay?”

“Yes, I’ve got my vision back now.” 

“Do you have feeling in your arms and legs?

“Yes.”

“How’s the dizziness?”

“It’s nearly gone.”

“What were you feeling right before you lost consciousness?” 

“My headache got exponentially worse.” CJ shudders. “I thought I was having a stroke.” Then, to be sure: “I didn’t have one, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” Davis shakes his head. “You sustained a concussion at Rosslyn, correct?”

“Yes, grade 2.”

“Did you take all of the recommended time off of work?”

“Only a week.” She casts her eyes toward Toby, hoping against hope that this won’t be an “I told you so” moment for him. She can’t see him all that well, sitting where he is, and she isn’t enthusiastic about the idea of moving her head and triggering another explosive headache, but if she knows him at all he might very well be looking pretty smug.

“You came back to work when?”

“Yesterday.”

The lieutenant commander nods. “And how long did you work?”

“My usual day … about 13 hours. 7:30am until my final brief at 8:30.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard. Eight hours tops for resuming your normal schedule—less than that if you’re still experiencing a headache and dizziness. Your PCP should have explained that when you followed up.”

CJ’s silence confirms that she did NOT follow up before coming back to work. She can feel Toby’s disapprobation. 

“Do you know why I passed out?” she asks, hoping to get away from the subject of her poor decision making. 

“The pressure changes from flying can make a concussion feel worse. A sudden onset headache can temporarily ‘overload’ your system and cause a loss of consciousness.”

“Could that cause some sort of damage?” Toby asks. She feels his body go tense behind her. 

“Very likely not,” the lieutenant says. “You’re going to have to take it a little slower though, Ms. Cregg,” he admonishes. “You should call your PCP back home to advise her what’s happened. She might want to have you in for another MRI.”

She doesn’t even want to deal with that statement, its ramifications, or, really, anything at all regarding her damn concussion. “Why am I shaking?” she asks, still feeling it deep in her core. 

“It’s your body’s way of dealing with unexpected pain and trauma. A headache severe enough to render you unconscious is going to trigger a physiological response. It should die down in a few minutes once your body gets over the shock.” He shines a pen light in her eyes to check her pupils. “You’ll need to stay lying down for a while. I have to report to the President--”

“Oh, please don’t bother him with it!” she exclaims, trying to sit up, only to be stopped by Toby.

“You know I have to report in, ma’am, he’s my C-in-C.” Davis rose. “I’ll be back shortly to take your blood pressure again. Continue to recline. Drink water.”

“All right,” CJ says meekly. 

He heads out the door, leaving CJ and Toby alone. Now that her vision is less blurry, she recognizes where they are; inside the President’s briefing room down the hall from the press cabin. 

“Are you cold?” Toby asks; he must be able to feel her shaking. “Let me get you a blanket.” He pulls one out of an overhead compartment and spreads it over her. “Any better?”

“Yes,” she replies, though it isn’t really helping. “Thank you. And thanks for not letting me land on the floor.”

“I’m glad you managed to hold off on passing out till I was there to catch you.” 

He hasn’t moved from his spot behind her; his hands are still resting lightly on her shoulders. She doesn’t mind it, really; she likes the steady, secure feeling of him so close. She closes her eyes and makes a conscious effort to stop the tremors in her arms and hands, finally managing to bring it under control. 

“Have some water, okay?” Toby pours a glass from the pitcher on the table and hands it over to her. 

After a few sips she starts to feel better, enough that she can give him a reproachful look for what is starting to feel like mother hen-ing. “I’m not an invalid.”

“You fainted in my arms, CJ; I’m allowed to be concerned.” 

“I hate that word,” she remarks, sipping the water, only aware at that moment of how dry her throat is. 

“Which one?”

“Fainted. It’s so melodramatic.”

She can practically hear Toby rolling his eyes. “You want to argue semantics when you just passed out from a concussion related headache?” 

“It’s too ‘Pride and Prejudice’-era fainting couch for me.”

Toby ignores her attempt at humor. “Didn’t I say you shouldn’t be making this trip, by the way? I’m pretty sure I said that.” 

“You want a medal for being right?”

“No, I just want you to listen to me.”

“The way that you always, one-hundred percent, without-fail listen to me?”

A tap on the door interrupts them. “Come in,” CJ says resignedly, dreading what’s sure to be an embarrassing explanation to the president. 

“I distinctly recall asking if you were well enough to fly,” the president says, hurrying in. “Now, were you being willfully stubborn or did you honestly think flying so soon after a head injury was a good idea?”

“Due respect, sir, I think willfully stubborn could apply equally well to both of us. You were shot and here you are.”

Bartlet nods. “Touche. But I’m still on my feet, Claudia Jean, which is more than I can say for you.” He looks alarmed when CJ pushes the blankets away as if to rise. “No, no. Stay there. That was an observation, not a challenge.” He frowns. “Once we get there I want you to stay on-board and rest. Toby and Sam can handle the press at the event.” 

“Sir, no. We’re short-handed without Josh and with Leo at the White House. You need me out there.”

“I need you well. I don’t want you going out there and losing your legs again …”

“I won’t!” 

“You have no way of knowing that,” Toby interjects. “You need to be here.”

“Then you’re going to have to sedate me and lock me in. If I can stand, I can walk. If I can walk, I’m getting off this plane and going to the event.”

“CJ--” Toby looks like he could cheerfully throttle her is he wasn’t also so damned concerned. 

“Look, I’ll … I don’t know, ask Danny to hang out backstage with me or something. He’d love to be able to watch from the wings instead of out in the crowd.”

“And if he makes it a story?” Toby asks. 

“He wouldn’t do that and you know it.” She fixes both men with a pleading gaze, willing them to understand how important it is that she get back on her feet. “I need to get back to work.”

“If you start feeling poorly, I want you back on the plane,” Toby finally concedes. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” CJ looks at the president. “Sir?”

“If you insist on going out there, I insist on you resting on the flight back. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“We still have an hour or so before we get there. Rest until then.” Bartlet leaves, casting a worried look at her as he goes. 

“CJ …” Toby starts. 

She holds out a hand to stop him, damn well-determined to get up and get on with it. “Help me up.”

“He literally just said …”

“I know what he said. Help me up anyway.”

He takes her hands, pulls her to standing, and then braces her against the dizziness that comes with it. 

“Lean in to me,” he urges, holding her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” she says, and she does rest against him for several long moments before straightening up. “And I’ve got this.”

***

Danny Concannon knows better than to show concern for CJ where others can see it. She’s ferociously committed to her image as an indestructible woman. He’s got no problem with that … except when she’s clearly in pain and fighting through it. That brings every protective instinct he has rushing to the forefront. 

Toby had pulled him aside on the plane and asked him to keep an eye on CJ during the event. He hadn’t commented on it, or on her obvious shakiness as they walked off the plane together—he’d just kept up a cheerful, mostly one-sided conversation about the venue, about Lawton’s remarks, and about the fact that they STILL didn’t have copies of the President’s (because Sam was STILL making changes). He could tell she was thankful he hadn’t fussed or fretted … he knows her well enough to understand that she hates having a fuss made over her … though he had to mightily bite back the urge to do so. 

Now Danny watches her lean against a spare podium backstage 30 minutes in to the event, noting the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her hands are clenched on the faux wood. He can tell that she’s fighting a monstrous headache. 

“I left my digital recorder on the plane,” he says, leaning close to her ear. 

“So go get it.”

“Walk with me.”

“I’m watching this.” 

“I really think you should walk with me,” he whispers with a bit more insistence.

“Danny, I need to watch …” she hisses through clenched teeth. 

“You’re starting to lose your color, CJ,” he says, raising an eyebrow at her. “So, let’s both of us go get some water.”

She reluctantly follows him out the back of the venue and into the bright sunlight. She squints and pulls on the pair of sunglasses tucked into the pocket of her blazer. 

“So, how’s your head?” he asks nonchalantly. 

“It’s fine.” When he gives her a look that all but screams “Oh really?” she snaps, “It’s throbbing, all right? But I can handle it.”

“That’s good to know. How about some water while you’re handling it?”

“That might not be the worst idea,” she concedes.

“Boy, it just kills you for the words ‘Danny, you’re right’ to pass your lips, doesn’t it?”

CJ offers a thin smile. She looks like she doesn’t have the energy to retort with something smart-ass. 

“There’s a bench on your right,” he says. “Let’s sit for a minute.”

He sits down next to her, though at enough of a distance that she won’t snap at him for coddling her. She leans forward, elbows resting on her knees.

“Are you going to puke, faint, or both?” he asks, half-joking, half-serious. 

“None of the above. I’m--”

“Fine. Yeah, I got that part. Why not take a deep breath or two just to make sure?” After a moment, he asks, “Any less dizzy now that you’re out of a confined, overheated space?”

“Yes,” she admits. “How did you know?”

“I had an ex-girlfriend who used to get debilitating migraines. Air and space always seemed to help.”

He sits with her, listening to the rising and falling of the introductory speaker’s voice back in the venue. He isn’t worried about missing any of this … he can get copies of the remarks from Toby or Sam. His concern, as it has been increasingly since the shooting in Rosslyn, is for CJ.

After several moment of sitting quietly together, CJ groans in frustration. “I hate this! I can’t do my job like this!”

“No one’s expecting you to.”

“I expect me to!”

“So you’ve told me … and Toby … and Leo … for the entire past week that you’ve been working from home instead of cognitively resting.”

“I’m the press secretary, Danny, I can’t just NOT do my job!”

“No one’s saying that. But let’s talk about unrealistic expectations for a minute. If Josh were here, if he had insisted on getting right back to work in spite of doctor’s orders, in spite of pain, you and everyone else would pressure him to stay on the plane and take it easy.”

“That’s different. Josh was shot--”

“Okay, it’s a different type of injury. But you were injured, too, enough that you were ordered to take a week off. You’re overdoing it and for no good reason that I can see other than to prove your own toughness which, believe me, you don’t need to prove.”

“I’m a woman filling what is traditionally a man’s job. I have to prove it again and again and again.”

“You know, my paper wants staff profiles … you sure you don’t want to discuss some of this on the record …”

CJ glares at him. “If you ever breathe a word …”

Danny gives her a quick grin. “I wouldn’t. You KNOW I wouldn’t.”

“Some days I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“See, you say that … but you know I wouldn’t do that to you. I respect you too much.”

“Why do you guys even want staff profiles anyway? What’s it to you?”

Danny shrugs. “Human interest.”

“What you call human interest I call nosiness and prying.”

“Prying … interesting choice of words … prying implies you have something to hide …” 

He’s teasing really, but underneath it is his own curiosity about how she really is doing; how they’re all doing, actually. He’s heard plenty … that Toby’s temper is worse than usual, that Charlie is withdrawn and quiet, even around the president, that Sam is spending every moment he isn’t at the White House with Josh at the hospital. He won’t put any of THAT into a story, not unless someone goes on the record about it … he has too much respect for these people who have become his friends. So he quickly assures CJ, “Whatever you’re working through, you need to work through on your own. But I wish to god you’d take it a little bit easier.” 

When she doesn’t reply he sighs and says, “Please come and get some water.”

He’s in love with this damn stubborn woman, with her fire and her attitude, her bravery and her strength. He’d been infatuated with her, sure, almost from the moment she set foot in the briefing room, but it deepened as the weeks went by, as he got to know her and was charmed by everything about her. But it was the image of her after Rosslyn, blood still in her hair, bruises blooming on her arms, a long scratch on her neck, standing steadfastly at the podium and giving briefings, one after another, that made his heart swell with pride even as his gut clenched with concern. 

And it’s doing the same thing now, a ball of anxiety building in his stomach as he watches her try to bull her way through when she’s clearly unwell. If he knows anything about Toby or the rest of the senior staff, they’re having as hard a time with this as he is. 

They separate back at the plane—he to the press cabin, she to the private office where the senior staff spends most of their time. He locates the recorder that he left on purpose to have an excuse to come back to the plane, double checks its batteries, and grabs a bottle of water for himself from the galley.

Footfalls on the steps outside alert him to someone else arriving at the plane. He catches Toby’s voice asking a question he can’t quite hear and then CJ’s, slightly exasperated, in response. Rather than make his presence known, he stays back behind the curtain leading to the press cabin, feeling only vaguely guilty for listening to what’s shaping up to be an argument. 

“If you and Danny don’t stop following me around, I’m going to start asking Butterfield to assign me my own set of agents.” 

“You’re complaining that I’m taking an interest in your health and welfare?”

“Coddling is what you’re doing and you’re making me crazy!”

Toby heaves a deep and irritated sigh. “So, what, you want me to ignore that you fainted less than 3 hours ago?”

“I told you I hate that word.”

“Fine. Lost consciousness. Either way, you need to be in here, sitting down or lying down or cognitively resting.”

“You need to let me do my job!” CJ’s voice rises in frustration. “I can’t just stop what I’m doing to satisfy your overprotectiveness! The world hasn’t ground to a halt because of what happened at Rosslyn. ”

“Maybe it should have!” Toby snaps. “The leader of the free world was nearly cut down by two white supremacists with guns who somehow got past the rope line on the watch of the most elite protective detail known to man! Maybe things NEED to stop for a little bit until we figure out what the hell happened! Maybe we shouldn’t be back out here two weeks later as if everything is normal!”

“Toby--”

“You want me to be blasé about this, CJ, but I can’t be, okay? Two of the best people I’ve ever known took bullets twenty feet from me. And you--” He takes a breath. “You are way too cavalier about this.”

“Cavalier?” Her voice shook. “You think I’m being cavalier? I was there, okay? I saw everything you did. I saw Josh in the ER with his chest filling up with blood. I met the women who got shot on the rope line—one of them was training for the Boston Marathon and she’ll be lucky to run again. I heard the shots and the screaming and the--” She pulls up short, then begins again. “But I am not going to let what happened there dictate how I run my life or how I do my job.”

“No one’s asking you to!”

“Oh? So what is it you’re doing right now?”

“I’m asking you to be careful! Christ, CJ, I just want you to take some time!”

“Time’s up, Toby! Okay? It’s back to work, back to life as we know it. Nothing has changed!”

“If you think that you’re deluding yourself!”

“Excuse me?” CJ’s voice rises higher; Toby has clearly hit a major nerve. “I’m doing WHAT? If you think--” Her voice falls off, replaced by a sharp indrawn breath that speaks of sudden pain and then a low agonized groan. “Oh my god.”

“CJ?” Toby’s voice drops from angry to worried almost immediately. “You okay?”

Danny doesn’t even bother trying to make a discreet entrance; he comes immediately out from behind the curtain and into the hallway to find CJ slumped against the wall, fingers pressed to her temples. 

Toby has a hand on her arm; he looks as though he’s seconds away from panicking. “Claudia? What’s wrong?”

“Goddamn headache,” she grinds out through clenched teeth. “Oh, it’s bad.” 

“Come on, sit down.” Danny helps her to the floor. “Lean your head back against the wall.”

“Dammit.” Her breath comes in short gasps. “It HURTS.” 

“I know. Tilt your head back,” he repeats, “and breathe. It’ll help you get past the pain.”

“I’m going for Davis.” Toby looks ready to vault up the stairs to the cockpit. Danny puts a hand on his arm to quell him. 

“Wait just a second, okay. I heard you guys yelling, which will get your blood pressure up and a headache started. That’s all this is. If it isn’t any better in five or ten minutes we’ll go for Davis.” 

“Are you sure? I mean, what if she--”

“I did a piece on concussions, Toby, and I had an ex who got headaches when we fought. Trust me.” He passes his water bottle over. “You want to find a napkin or something, wet it down?”

“Yeah.” Toby takes off like a shot. 

Danny settles his hand on the back of her neck and works at rubbing the tension out of it. “CJ? How’s your head?” 

“It hurts like hell.” Her voice sounds small and far away, such a change from how she normally sounds that it’s alarming. “Am I going to pass out?”

“Not if you breathe slowly for me.” He plays the fingers of his free hand along her pulse point; it’s beating erratically. He repeats what he’d just said to Toby because he’s quite sure she hadn’t been focused enough to hear him. “Let your pulse come down. If you can relax that headache will ease.”

“Okay,” she breathes. “Where’s Toby?”

“Getting a cold washcloth.”

“He’s going to be pissed at me.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” 

“He’s already pissed at me.”

“I think he’s generally pissed at everyone. He’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I should have listened to you.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about that now.” He really wants to touch the side of her face but has a feeling that’s a more emotionally charged gesture than either of them can handle right now. “Notice how I haven’t said ‘I told you to take it easy’?”

She smiles feebly. “You’ll say it later, I know you will.”

“Probably so.” Danny eases her clenched fist open and runs his fingers lightly across her palm. “Okay, definitely so.”

“I just want everything to be normal again. I don’t want it to be like this.” 

“I know.” He feels her hand relax under his. Her voice is losing its tightness, her breathing heading back toward normal. “It’s going to take some time.”

“Did you hear me yelling at him?”

“Yeah. You guys are really good at that.” 

“He’s so damn stubborn.” 

“I’ve got news, Claudia Jean … he’s not the only one.” 

Toby comes back with a linen towel from one of the washrooms that he’s soaked in cool water. Danny shifts position so Toby can kneel next to her and hold it against the back of her neck. 

“Jesus, CJ, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pulled you into an argument.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, trying to muster up a smile. “That’s what we do best, right?”

“I didn’t mean to--”

“I know. Look, do me a favor and don’t apologize again till I can fully appreciate it, okay?”

That gets a laugh out of Toby, albeit a strained one. 

“I told Danny you’re so damn stubborn.”

“I like to think of myself as tenacious,” Toby replies. He turns the towel to the cool side and reapplies it. “Much like someone else I know.”

They sit like that for a few minutes, silent, all of them trying to get their own panic and fear under control. 

“You okay?” Danny finally asks CJ gently. “No more headache?” 

“I wouldn’t say that exactly.” CJ opens her eyes and smiles shakily. “But it’s manageable again. Thank you.”

“Good.” He squeezes her hand a final time. “I’m going to go find Davis and see if he’s got anything stronger than Advil for the flight home. I’ll be right back.” He raises an eyebrow at Toby. “Maybe you can keep her in her seat.”

He heads for the cockpit, giving them the time to either make-up or continue fighting … knowing the two of them it could very well be either.

*** 

Toby watches Danny walk off. His heart is still thudding in his chest but it’s slowing down now that CJ’s not in such clearly awful pain. 

He finds himself in the unusual situation of not knowing what to say, largely because he doesn’t want to trigger another argument. CJ gets what he’s struggling with and says  
wryly, “You aren’t going to break me.”

Toby laughs, a bit more wildly than he’d like. “I think the last fifteen minutes proved otherwise.”

“I’m not broken, just a little battered.” She leans her head back against the wall, clearly drained. 

“I really am sorry.”

“That you riled me up? Come on, Toby, it’s not a normal day unless we’ve gone head to head once or twice over some damn thing or another.” She lays a hand on his forearm. “We do this all the time.”

“It doesn’t normally end with you on the floor in pain.”

“Might be more fun if it did … if you like that sort of thing, that is,” CJ says, trying for a cheeky grin. When he doesn’t respond she rolls her eyes. “Well, I thought it was funny.”

Which, okay, it was, but he isn’t going to let her deflect from the subject. He hesitates—he REALLY doesn’t want to rock the boat—but finally decides to hell with it and says what’s on his mind.

“This is the second time today that you’ve scared the hell out of me. For my sake, if no one else’s, can you stop trying to bull your way through every situation at the risk of your own health?”

CJ heaves a sigh. “Do I actually need to explain to you why I have to be as tough as I am?”

“You absolutely do not. But I also need you to understand where I’m coming from here.” He stops, ponders how exactly to word this without overt sentimentality. “You’re my closest friend. You have to know that by now.”

Her mouth quirks into a smile. “Of course I do.”

“I don’t, you know, play well with others.”

“Yeah, I got the memo on that.”

“So…I really need you to be okay, okay? I don’t want to have to think about what I’d do if I didn’t have you to argue with.” That’s getting a little too close to an emotion he’d rather not touch right now, so he veers back toward semi-witty banter. “I don’t have anyone else who I can beat at pool--”

“You did that twice.”

“Four times. Own up to it.” He gives her the side-eye, comfortable again now that there’s been a joke made. “I want to be able to watch you do the Jackal while Josh does that really awful nerdy white guy dancing.”

“Says the other nerdy white guy.”

Nope, too far into joking. He needs to get serious again, although the conversation is now starting to feel slightly schizophrenic. “You know, I’m pouring my heart out here …”

“I know.” CJ squeezes his forearm; her hand is warm even through the material of his shirt. “I know you are, Toby.” 

“So I’m just saying that I …” He finds he can’t really say it now that he’s come all this way, but he struggles on anyway. “…I have need of you …and I just want you to respect that. And, you know, get where I’m coming from when I get a little overprotective.” 

That seems to floor her; it takes her a moment to process and a moment longer to speak. “Toby, I--”

Damn. Maybe that’s a bit much for a day that’s already fraught with too much emotion and turmoil. He drops his eyes and studies his hands. “Sorry. Should we just pretend I didn’t say that?”

“No.” She moves her hand down to his wrist, lets her fingers do to him what Danny’s had done to her, playing across his pulse points, probably the only gesture of affection she wants to risk when it’s possible a plane-load of reporters will be back any minute. “I’m glad you said it.” 

She speaks slowly, searching for words. “I spend all my time giving away pieces of myself to whoever happens to be in the room… reporters who need a story, a president who needs my counsel, assistants who need my time and energy. But I like that you ‘have need of me’ in some way that isn’t just related to my job.” She blushes, and he’s glad to see the color back in her cheeks. “I forget sometimes that it’s okay to need each other that way.”

Toby gives her his eyes again. “The staff psychological profiles thing we were talking about earlier… I hate that whole idea. Not just politically but personally, too. How I reacted to my boss getting shot and how angry I feel about the FBI’s inability to shut down these hate groups … that isn’t anyone’s business. And this, you, Josh, the medical end of things … that’s no one’s business either. But I feel like it’s something WE should talk about, you know, with each other. Because I’m …” 

He struggles for words, which is something he’s done more of in the last ten minutes than in the last ten years. “I’m not concerned because I think you’re frail or need protection. I just worry because it’s you.”

He can see that she’s really struggling to keep the tears at bay and feels bad that he’s caused her more emotional upheaval in a day that’s been full of it already. 

“I thought you should know,” he finishes lamely, dropping his gaze to their hands, his turned up with his palm open, her fingers grazing his wrist. 

“I do know,” she murmurs, blinking hard to fight back tears. “Thank you.”

Footsteps on the stairs near the cockpit signal that Danny is back with Lieutenant Commander Davis. They drop hands and CJ straightens before taking the better part of valor and leaning back against the wall again. 

“Ms. Cregg, Mr. Concannon told me you’re still having a hard time getting that headache under control.” Davis kneels at her side, takes her pulse. “I’ve got some Percocet here that should help you on the flight back. The altitude changes are going to cause some additional pain, as you learned on the way here, but this should let you get some rest. I’d rather have you asleep instead of blacking out.”

CJ nods and he can see that she’s warring with the impulse to get back up and keep fighting. Finally, though, she takes stock of the fact that she’s on the floor, hobbled by an intense headache, and says, “That sounds good.”

They get her settled on the couch in the briefing room. Davis hands her the pills, watches her swallow them down with water and assures her that he’ll check in during the flight. Danny takes Toby’s copy of the President’s remarks, moves discreetly to one end of the long black conference table, and begins to read and compile a story. 

“I wonder how he’s going to file a story on a speech he never saw,” Toby murmurs to CJ, drawing up a chair next to the couch. 

“He’ll think of something,” CJ says, smiling fondly. “He always does.”

“Not a bad guy to have by your side.” 

“So, are you rescinding your ‘don’t get in a relationship with him’ directive from earlier today?” she teases. 

“That wasn’t quite a directive. More a … strongly worded suggestion.” He slips his fingers into hers and squeezes gently. “I don’t give a damn about optics, okay? You were right. Just do what makes you happy.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Regarding him or …”

“In general, I suppose. Or at least right now.” She sighs. “I thought getting back to work would help alleviate this …feeling in my chest.” CJ bites her lip. “This uncomfortable, too tight feeling. And the cold pit in my stomach. And the buzz in my brain.”

“You mean the fear?” Toby murmurs. “The stuff that builds around your heart and in your belly and coils in the back of your head? The fear that there are more bullets and punks with guns? The reason that you jump when a car back-fires or a door slams?”

“Yeah,” CJ whispers. “That.”

“I feel it too. I think we all do. And I think we’re all watching each other pretend we don’t feel it and then assuming everyone else is handling it better than we are.” He shifts in the chair. “We’re taking our cues from the President on that, I think, but let’s be honest here …how do you think the nights are REALLY going in the Residence?”

“How do you think they’re going for Josh?”

“How are they going for you?” he asks, meeting her eyes. “We DID promise to be a little more open and honest with each other.”

She gives him a fleeting smile and a nod. “My nights are … uneasy. I’m listening for every noise. Having anxiety dreams. The pain pills help me fall asleep … but it’s harder to come out of nightmares when they’re in my system, so it’s not exactly a winning scenario.” She meets his eyes. “Anything sound familiar?”

“Very.”

“And the days … here’s the thing … if I’m working, I’m not thinking … not about that anyway. I’m thinking about the next 4 briefings, the next 10 meetings, the meet and greets and the releases and everything else. If I’m doing that, I’m not doing this.” CJ waves a hand at herself. “Dreading sleep because I’ll either have anxiety dreams about my father or nightmares where all I see are bullet holes in my friends.”

“I didn’t--” God, if it’s this bad for her, what must it be for Josh … or the President? “I wish I’d known, CJ.”

“Well … now you do.” She gives a shaky laugh that belies the sheen of tears that are building up in her eyes “Now you see why I wanted to come back.” She blows out a slow breath. “When that bullet hit Josh, it hit us all.”

Toby nods. “Yeah. It did.” He lightly strokes her hair away from her face. “How are those pills kicking in?”

“You’re starting to blur around the edges." She says it jokingly, though there’s a note of apprehension in her voice that Toby clearly picks up. 

“Can I sit here with you? Or am I being an overprotective jackass?”

CJ laughs, a little sleepily. “I never called you a jackass.”

“I’m sure you will at some point.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He gives her a fond smile; he loves this complex woman. Not the way Danny loves her, he’s sure, but in a way that is wholly their own, a way that no one else can understand. He does need her, needs her in ways he can’t even articulate to himself. 

Her eyes are drifting closed as the Percocet does its job. “Tell Danny thanks.”

“I will.”

“I’m sorry I--”

He parrots her earlier words back to her: “Don’t apologize until I can truly appreciate it.”

Her laugh is thin but it’s still a laugh. He tucks the blanket more securely around her. 

“Get some rest, Claudia,” he murmurs. “I’ll let you know when we’re home.”

END


End file.
